


Canis Major

by starryeyeddreamers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Boxing, Developing Relationship, Dog - Freeform, Gen, M/M, Other, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyeddreamers/pseuds/starryeyeddreamers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire's alcoholism has only been getting worse as he experiences art block and worships Enjolras. Grantaire's sister has to give up her Newfoundland dog, and Grantaire is the one to adopt her.  Soon the dog takes over all aspects of his life, mostly for the better and Grantaire begins to recover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you absolutely sure?” Her pretty face scrunched in concern. Her free hand reached up to sweep hair that had fallen out of the complicated twist on her head while her other hand struggled with the frayed leash.  
“Lucie, I swear, I’m absolutely sure.” His crooked teeth took up what was meant to be a reassuring grin but his sister is not fooled.

“I can have a friend take her. Marguerite mentioned that she would if you can’t. She can always go to a shelter worse comes to worst.” He had been scratching behind the ears of the lion-sized dog in front of him to avoid eye contact with his sister but with a quick glance up at her he registered the fall of her shoulders at the mention of a shelter despite the uncertainty in her eyes.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, we’ll be fine.” He focus was back on the giant fluffball in front of him regarding him with her huge black eyes.. “Huh Stella? How’s that sound, just you and me?” Lucie smiled weakly at his reassurances. “Besides, couldn’t have her going to strangers.” His sister shook her head and pulled her brother into a hug. Her black hair smelled of strawberries and Grantaire felt steady for the first time in hours while crushed in his sister’s arms.

“Thanks R.” She whispered as she let him go and glanced around his tiny flat. He saw the way her eyes zeroed in on the empty bottles lined up next to the sink and the equally empty canvases stacked in the corner. He had tried so hard to make his flat look presentable but had forgotten to bring the bottles out to the recycle. “Hope she’s not too big for you, or this apartment.”

“No, maybe she’ll be good for me.” He offered another faint smile. “Might force me to leave for more than pizza and paint.” 

“And pink Pinnacle.” She gestured towards the bottles.

“I don’t drink vodka Lucie, I’m not a teenage girl.” His smile was wry but he fidgeted with the sleeve of his cardigan. 

“Is it Ep’s or do you have some girlfriend I should know about?”

“I do now, her name’s Stella and she has the most beautiful black hair and if you must know, the bottle of Cotton Candy is Mont’s.” His grin widened at his sister’s incredulous look. She choose to drop the subject.

“I wouldn’t ask if Georges wasn’t allergic.” Her expression grew fond when she brought up her boyfriend.

“Must be serious, if you’re getting rid of Stella. You must really like him.” He poked her side and grinned.

“Stop!” She wiggled away, dancing towards the door. “I really think so.” She looked sheepishly back at her brother.

“Need to give him a talk.” He glanced back at the Newfoundland sniffing around his flat. “Or sic her after him.”

“No, Stella love him, that’s the problem.” She chuckled then glared back at her disheveled younger brother. “And you, he’s a good man, be civil.” 

“Yeah, yeah. If you say so.” 

“I think you have everything you need for her.” She looked into the huge, canvas bag she had hauled up the stairs. “Food, bed, toys, extra collar, I’ll put her leash in here... Oh I almost forgot.” She dug through the campy, wooly purse at her hip. “I knit you a new hat, the last one fell apart you said.” She pulled out an obviously handmade beanie and handed it to him. “You said red right?” He nodded, smiling fondly at her and the mention of his sudden inclination towards red. “And I think I know why.”

He smacked her arm and wrangled the hat from her hand as she tried to keep it away from him. “Behave Lucie...” He growled, which caused the dog to growl. 

“Bye Stella sweetie, I’m sorry you have to live with Mr. I’m grumpy because I’m so sexually frustrated, here.” She bent and pressed her face into the thick fur of what was formerly her dog. Her brother grumbled at the dig while she straightened up. “I could go give him the same speech baby brother.”

“If we were actually a thing you could do that. And you unfortunately would do that.”

“He better be good to you.” She pulled her raven braid back over her shoulder. “Or else.” 

“Yeah, yeah, out you go, back to Georges, we’ll be fine.” He closed the door on his wild but much more sensible than himself, older sister. He didn’t know if he was talking about him and the dog, or him and the boy. He only relaxed when he heard her clunky bootsteps fade away down the five sets of stairs to the street.

He faced the slobbery beast currently licking his kitchen window with vigor.

 

Hours later, he landed with a flop on his lumpy, threadbare couch. The window was abandoned by the great tongue, streaks left down the panes like brush strokes on one of his more drunken attempts of art. The horse bolted towards the couch and launched herself at the rumpled boy lying there.

“Hey Stella.” Her thick black fur muffled his voice as he fought the dog back onto his lap. Her thinking she was a lapdog was going to quickly become a problem. He didn’t know what he had gotten himself into. If he was being judged on the way he took care of himself, a cruelty case would have been drawn up long ago. Now he was in charge of another living being, one that probably outweighed at least four of his friends. He should have said no.

He liked animals, might even love them. But some days he only had a piece of toast to eat because he had no money, no will, and no memory to feed himself. Lucie knew this of course and was going to continue buying food for her pony sized canine. She knew her baby brother was a fuckup who constantly needed someone taking care of him, and why’d he been first on the list to take her beloved canine, he’d never know.

Grantaire fell asleep with a paw the size of his face pressed to his chest and his legs pinned to the couch by a furry boulder. 

A shrill cry from the phone roused him. He rolled his eyes at the heavy bark that followed the ring of the phone. “You are not a city dog, my friend.” He muttered to the dog as he shimmied out from under her weight and onto the floor, crawling over to the coffee table to answer the demanding phone.

“Yello?” He smirked at Stella’s head dropping back on her massive paws with a dismissive huff. 

“Grantaire! What are you doing?”

“Well, Jehan, I had been sleeping...” Mumbles that barely sound like words escaped his mouth as he leaned with his back against the couch. A paw landed itself on his shoulder which he pet to soothe himself. 

“Oh sorry, I’ll just let you go then.”

“No, why’d you call, Prouvaire?” He gritted his teeth at the welcoming prospect of hanging up immediately. 

“Well, it’s eight, and the meeting which started over an hour ago which is fine...” Grantaire filled in that blank with a because you’re so annoying that it’s better you weren’t there so all of us didn’t strangle you. “But now Enjolras is ranting about something he thinks he knows about and his argument is loose at best and we’re all bored to tears and...”

“You need me to come get drunk and piss him off.” His laugh was grim and acidic. 

“Well, to put it plainly, yes, please?” He could hear Jehan wincing at his phrasing. 

“Sorry buddy, no can do, I have a new roommate, can’t abandon her just yet.” He heard a scramble and a yelp before another familiar voice took over the phone.

“Roommate? Her? R what are you keeping from us? Just bring her down to meet us!” A jubilant shout from Courfeyrac nearly blasted Grantaire’s eardrums, and he should have known the man had been listening. Courfeyrac needed to be in the center of everything and if Enjolras was as bad as Jehan had said, Courfeyrac would be insufferably bored by now and had probably been flicking straw wrappers at the wannabe revolutionary before ripping the phone out of the poet’s hands. “She cute?”

“Can’t. Sorry Courf, she isn’t into bars, she’s very cute but very underage, sorry bro.” 

“Damnit. I want to come see her anyway, how underage? What kind of flat you running R?” He could hear peals of laughter in the background, probably Eponine by the high pitched tone.

“Trust me she’s not your type.” A terrific pout immediately found its way to Courfeyrac’s face, Grantaire was sure of it. 

“Enjolras is going to be jealous.” A yelp sounded down the phone line with a muffled voice following it that Grantaire could only imagine was Enjolras’ angry ranting voice.

“Oh gotta go Grantaire, I might have to bring Courf to the emergency room when Enjolras stops lecturing him, he’s going to be in shock.” Grantaire couldn’t help but cackle at the thought of his charming friend rocking back and forth with a wild Enjolras waving his hands over his head ranting.

“Alright Jehan, ‘night.”

“Sleep well, Grantaire dear.” His sweet friend whispered before hanging up. Before leaving his ear, his phone had buzzed with the news of a text message. 

It was Eponine. He should have guessed. 

:Ep: new roommate? Courf may or may not be in tears right now bc you won’t share  
:R: I’ll share, but the kisses she gives are pretty slobbery   
:Ep: ?  
:R: Rmbr I said my sister was looking to give away her dog?  
:Ep: U didn’t R  
:R: Her name’s Stella and shes currently drooling on my shoulder  
:Ep: I MUST COME SEE  
:R: You drunk?  
:Ep: Details, details  
:Ep: omw   
:Ep: I might cry bc of cute nd bc of sad  
:Ep: bware R 

Grantaire braced him arms and forced himself onto his feet. He rewarded his efforts with a rum and coke sans coke. Then went back to cuddling with the canine, his throat burning in protest and his limbs feeling as heavy as sandbags.

He was awoken abruptly for the second time that night when he heard a key being jammed into his door with drunken clumsiness. He prayed it was Eponine because he was a goner otherwise. His arms and legs were too fuzzy to provide much help and the actually fuzzy creature laying underneath was too sweet to be any help either. She did, however, bark a hearty greeting and beat her airplane wing of a tail against the couch.

“Grantaire.” Eponine half squealed as she slammed the door shut with a mite too much force and fell to her bony knees in front of the couch. “It’s so adorable.” She laid her dark head on the dog’s back with a sigh.

Grantaire knew Eponine had to have had a pretty bad day to be drunk enough to be squealing. 

“What happened?” Her big eyes joined Stella’s matching black ones to stare at him. The girl hiccupped violently.

“Marius asked her out.” She huffed. “She said yes, they have a date tomorrow.”

“Oh Ep.” He held his arms out to her. She fell onto the couch without her usual grace, fitting her slender body between him and the mega throw pillow that was now his pet. She snuggled up to his side, Stella lifted her head and lay it back down across Eponine’s lap. The girl’s eyes quickly slid shut.

“Why are you drunk?” A mumble arose from under his arm.

“How’d you know?”

“You reek of Captain’s.” He felt a soft smile against his chest. “And you’re not talking, so you must be really wasted, you never shut up when you’re drunk, or sober...”

“Overwhelmed I guess.” Eponine carded her slender fingers through the thick inky fur, dabbing her fingertips on the white dots scattered on the dog’s back.

“So soft.” She mumbled, slumping further over into his arms. He swung both their legs into a prone position, forcing his feet under the massive dog. They were startled from their drunken daze by the heavy front door swinging open.

“Grantaire, what the hell is barking in here?” His glance was met with a fierce glare from his slender, well dressed even in pajamas, across the hall neighbor.

“Monty dear, ever knock?” Montparnasse’s black shadowed eyes widened at the sight of the massive area rug in their laps.   
“You’re keeping pet horses now R?” His mouth twisted into a sharp grin. “Doesn’t it belong in a stable?”

“Name’s Stella, Monty.” His aggravated neighbor made a face at that nickname.

“Grantaire...”

“Shhhhh ‘parnasse. Come cuddle” Eponine hushed, her arms beckoned the tall man in dark green pajamas to come to the couch, but was interrupted by a buzzing in Grantaire’s front pocket.

:Apollo: Where were you tonight? 

Grantaire laughed harshly, ignoring the looks he received from both of his current guests. 

:R: Too quiet? Too much work got done without me there? Oh no, I know, you miss me Enjy?  
:Apollo: Please come next week.

Grantaire tensed, which did not go unnoticed by the friend in his arms. 

“R?” Eponine slurred. Grantaire jostled her, pushing her up to her feet. 

“Let’s go to bed, Ep.” She nodded slowly, like a child being sent to her room. He pulled her hand towards his bedroom. “Stella, stay.” He called to the dog as she rose to follow, she lay her head back on her paws instead. “Monty, you’re invited to come.” He shouted back to the man who was standing confusedly in his living room, staring at the bear he saw in front of him. “Long as you bring the bottle on the counter.”

Montparnasse did as he was told. 

The morning sun rose on a motley crew curled on Grantaire’s bed, which, thank God, was pushed against the wall to prevent its occupants from falling to the hard floor. Grantaire’s stocky body was curled around Eponine’s sinewy frame, parenthesized by Montparnasse’s willowly body, his forehead pressed against Eponine’s. All three’s dark hair mixing together, contrasting sharply with the white sheets in dawn’s light. The giant dog had ignored her orders and was nestled carefully at the shorter occupants’ feet, head and paws resting on the tall criminal’s shins. Jehan could have written sonnets about the little nest of temporary comfort.. 

But this is Grantaire’s story, so no sonnets were written. Just curses in the air as he woke and shuffled to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruises have been the only constant in Grantaire’s life. On his shins and arms from the kids on the playground in elementary school because of his threadbare hand me downs and his dirty hair. The brilliant bouquets of purples, blues, yellows and black that blossomed on Claire’s fragile spine contrasting the milky white of her skin with their promises of a slow, painful death. The ones that his father didn’t mean pressed onto his wrists and the apple of his cheek with a soft fist. The ones on both him and Eponine when he had to hold her down to keep her from picking a fight she wouldn’t win or deserve to be in. The ones that lined his mother’s neck when they took her down and laid her on a gurney and pulled a zipper over her head. The drunken disagreements that came to blows in the alley behind the pub. Maybe that’s why Bahorel was able to convince him to try fighting. 

He had liked sports well enough, was decent without trying. Training gave him something to do that didn’t involve his mouth on a bottle or shot glass. He liked the feeling that the crowd cheering and jeering at his every move gave him. He liked the high of his arm being raised above his head, the countdown that preceded that moment of victory. Sometimes the concussions even helped him forget just as well as the liquor. 

He was good at boxing. It won him money. Something he desperately needed considering he wasn’t painting and therefore wasn’t selling any paintings. Plus Bahorel had roped Eponine into boxing as well and she was bloody fantastic. So training everyday with his friends made the whole thing so effortlessly enjoyable. He was happy having the crap beat out of him and returning the favor at least once a week.

Until he had fell back into the bottle. 

He stopped the crunches and the jump-rope and the jogging. He got soft again. Dubois told him he couldn’t come back until he was sober again. Grantaire tried to be mad, but it was halfhearted at best, his fierce coach was right again. Now he couldn’t even dream of walking into the gym doors again. He only saw Eponine and Bahorel at meetings now.

But that was then and now he’s got Stella.

It’s been a month since Lucie dropped her megadog off at his apartment. A month of the giant dog growing restless all day in his tiny rooms while he was at work. So instead of going to the Musain and having a beer, Grantaire had begun going for walks with his bear dog. He had begun jogging again. Stella loved the park. He bought a frisbee and he honest to god laughed while he played with her. Grinning as he wrestled it from her slobbery mouth. He had even brought her out on the train to the lake last weekend after looking up the breed and finding out Newfoundlands loved water. Wikipedia was right, she had loved it.

Last night he had found himself at the store after work, his usual routine when his liquor cabinet had gotten dry. The milkbones were stocked on a shelf next to the community bulletin board. He left with a large box of them, a tiny slip of paper, and a meeting to attend next Tuesday in the Episcopal Church basement over on Elm.

He had barely seen in friends in the month since he had gotten the dog. He felt guilty for leaving her locked up all day and was feeling less and less inclined to go out at night, leaving her locked up anymore.

Jehan had been to visit, with Courfeyrac who demanded to met his roommate and nearly died when he found out she had four legs instead of two. The pair had immediately fallen in love and demanded he attend all meetings with the dog instead of coming once a week like he had been for the past few weeks, health codes and Musicetta’s boss be damned. 

Grantaire couldn’t deny that he missed it. He missed the arguing with Enjolras, the impassioned speeches, the pure hope in the air that he swore there had to be a way to bottle and sell wholesale. He found he didn’t miss the last calls or the slurring anymore. 

He hadn’t quit drinking. Was just currently avoiding it in babysteps. The milk bone night had been his greatest victory yet. He had to admit that at least some of the drinking had been to mask the pathetic longing he felt for attention at every meeting of his passionate friends. Attention from the angelic leader who waved his arms about and was capable of constructing a pure paradise with words that made people want to fight for him, but was equally capable of burning down what had already been ruins in the heart of the cynic with those same glorious words. Grantaire knew he had to avoid Enjolras if he was going to get his life together. Maybe then he could convince Enjolras that he was worth keeping around.

Maybe.

Everyday since the introduction of the dog had been a new struggle. Grantaire had to remember to feed her before he left for his job, and as soon he got home. To take her for walks, and to play with her at the park. But she had made it so easy, with her big brown eyes and bigger paws that she tripped over when she ran. She had snuggled up to him on the lumpy couch when he had gotten the shakes. He decided that dogs were better than people. Her eyes weren’t pitying or disgusted at his vomiting. They are not judgemental when he relapses with a pile of half price nips. She just lays her massive head on his lap and sighs, making her fur available to soak up any tears.

He had been in the park when Bahorel asked him to come back. 

“I don’t believe my eyes, is that Grantaire, doing crunches?” The massive man interrupted his relative peace with his booming voice. He grinned as he stood over the slighter man on the scratchy grass. Stella barked a friendly greeting from her place on the lawn a few yards away, chewing on a large stick. Bahorel eyed her.

“Hey man what’s up?” Bahorel offered a hand and pulled Grantaire up to his feet in a one fluid motion. 

“Nothing, me and Ep were going to meet over by the fountain, jogging a couple miles.” He glanced back at Stella who was back to mauling her stick. “This why you’re not at meetings anymore?” Grantaire followed his gaze and allowed a small smile.

“Uh, yeah I took her off my sister’s hands and I’ve been busy I guess?” He knew he looks guilty and knows that he has nothing to be guilty for.

“How’ve you been though man?” Grantaire knew he’s talking about his drinking. He knows Bahorel is never subtle with anyone, and that he’s really trying to be gentle with his question.

“Honestly, I’m better.” Bahorel’s face broke in a wide grin. “Well, you’re doing crunches, thinking about coming back?” He had a joking tone, but Grantaire knows he’s serious, that he and Eponine have wanted him back since he’d gotten himself kicked out.

“I think that’d be good for me.” He glanced back at what has become his child and his own personal AA. “But...”

“Ep told me about the dog.” He smiled with conspiracy in his eyes, and Grantaire reminded himself that he owes Eponine a talking to about telling everyone everything when he’s not present. “Dubois said you can bring her to the gym. Seems he’s got a softspot for scruffy black haired animals without a home.” He elbows Grantaire and frowned with laughter dancing in his eyes. “You’re going to need some work to get back up to beating anyone, too bony.” He pokes the smaller man in the ribs. He escaped retaliation by gracefully bounding away and going to scratch Stella behind the ears.

Grantaire ended up joining Eponine and Bahorel on their jog. It was a struggle to keep up most of the time, but it almost feels like old times. This time Stella tags along and his chest feels like bursting. From lack of breath and a little bit of emotion.

 

 

 

 

He already had a fat lip, a black eye and probably has a few bruised ribs but he hasn’t been home to check in the mirror yet. Bahorel who surprisingly used to the be an even match for the slighter Grantaire, had not lost to him yet, had not even given the illusion that he was anywhere near going down. Grantaire’s unused gloves felt stiff and his mouth felt metallic. But he felt alive in the ring, with Bahorel dancing around, blocking all of his punches. With Eponine laughing in the corner at Stella who had found an old punching bag and was dragging it around in her mouth. With old bald Dubois regarding him with contempt, leaning on the ropes with a scowl on his face.

“You’re fucking awful, Grantaire.” His scowl deepened as he caught Eponine goofing off in the corner. “And you dog just want to pull things, and you’re too dumb to let her.” Grantaire’s eyes shifted wildly from Bahorel’s fists and to his dog and her punching bag. “Aww well. Back to getting beaten to a pulp, you’ll be training late today.” The grouchy old trainer left the ring and Grantaire caught him strapping the punching bag to a makeshift harness and leaving the dog to amuse herself.

 

Grantaire had left the gym at 10:30. Eponine and Bahorel had left long ago for the Musain and the nightly meeting. Dubois had said he could go, that he’d watch Stella. He was growing attached and Grantaire found that thought hilarious. It had been Bahorel’s comment that had been meant to persuade him that had gotten him to stay.  
“He misses you R.”  
“Fat chance.” He never met Bahorel’s eyes, never broke his pushups.”Probably thinks I’m drinking too much to get out of bed.” He sighed.   
“He did ask that, at first.” He stared daggers into the back of his head. “When he did ask, the stubborn bastard.” He began to mumble. “Just, you two are idiots, you know that?” He knelt down and pushed down on his back, causing him to flop on his stomach. “Just come back when you’re ready.”

Grantaire had taken out his frustration on the punching bag. He was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. He was met with the dark eyes of his boxing coach. 

He was near exhaustion by that point, all day at the gym had taken its toll, and work was going to be hell tomorrow. But Dubois had offered him a fight, in two months, and Grantaire actually felt at home for the first time in months. Someone had put their trust in him again, something that hadn’t happened since the last time Enjolras had asked him to draw up flyers and he had gotten wasted instead.

He stepped out of the gym, legs like jelly with Stella trotting happily next to him. It was only three blocks to his apartment. He looked like a mess and he knew it. But it felt different than the usual mess he was. He didn’t have his ripped jeans and flannel on, hiding and housing a flask and a box of cigarettes. He didn’t smell of booze, just straight sweat and the tang of blood. He looked like he had been beaten (which he had been), with a grey tank top and gym shorts, blood streaking down his shirt. He had a shiner for the record books. He had his black boxing gloves hanging around his neck. His hands only shakingly held the leash in his hand. He was grateful that Stella was calm and would not bolt because he could not restrain her. 

His head had been down, and that had been his mistake. Enjolras would have recognized those black curls anywhere. He did not recognize the giant creature trotting beside the familiar cynic. He debated crossing the street, avoiding the man who was probably drunk, based on his staggering. But Enjolras had felt himself drawn like a moth to a bug zapper and he followed his feet instead of his head.

 

“Grantaire.” He said softly, trying to gauge the level of intoxication that Grantaire was up to at this point. He eyed the black beast at his the other man’s side as he approached the pair. Upon closer inspection, Enjolras found that Grantaire looked even worse than he did from afar. There was blood down his shirt, a black eye was blossoming, and his lip was split. Not that Enjolras’ eyes lingered on Grantaire’s lips for too long. 

Without thinking he rolled his eyes at the thought of the drunken brawl that had brought on the mess stumbling towards him. Of course, Grantaire had taken that exact moment to look up, surprise flitting over his face which quickly turned to a bitter smirk, and he had seen the eyeroll.

“Apollo.” He stated, halting himself and the dog a good three feet away from Enjolras, which had caused the blond to stop short, respecting personal space for once. He grimaced at the nickname, but noticed the diction on the ridiculous nickname. Clear, crisp, and dripping with something Enjolras couldn’t quite place. Was it disappointment or anger? He only knew the man opposite him was not drunk. Not with the way his eyes shined. 

“You’re not drunk.” It was a statement, and he knew immediately that he should not have said it. Because all the light went right out of Grantaire’s eyes, but the smirk held.

“The tone of surprise is comforting, Apollo, really shows your opinion of me.” He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand and winced as he hit his lip. 

“Where have you been? You missed all the meetings.” He glanced down at the dog who had sat itself at Grantaire’s feet.

“I went last week.”

“For ten minutes.”

“I’ve been busy, didn’t think you’d even notice.” Grantaire sighed and reached down to scratch at the canine’s ears. Enjolras huffed and clenched his fists. He had just come over to make sure the other man was alright and they had already adopted combative tones. Enjolras, usually so gifted at the art of persuasion, found himself lacking when it came to convincing Grantaire to talk to him these days, let alone listen.

But where had the resident drunk been the last few weeks? Enjolras had gotten much too far in his latest speech, had far too many assenting nods directed towards it in the back room of the Musain at the last meeting. Not one voice countered his flimsy at best third point in the argument against tax hikes. 

It was lacking something. Something he didn’t even know he counted on to make his speeches better. A counter argument from someone who wasn’t already convinced.

Enjolras looked back up at the man who was now wearing a confused expression. Grantaire felt self-conscious, a rarity for the boisterous man, as Enjolras scanned him from head to toe, silently. 

“Where did that come from?” His lean fingers gestured to the baby black bear that Grantaire was keeping leashed at his feet. “And what happened to you? If you’re not drunk?” Grantaire would not raise his head to look him in the eyes.

“That is Stella.” He laughed at Enjolras’ clearly disturbed expression directed towards his nonchalance and avoidance of the second question. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I have to go see a man about a dog.” He glanced down with a look of fondness. Enjolras did not understand why his stomach leapt at the small smile that forced its way onto Grantaire’s face. “Well no, I have a dog, I do have to change though, so gotta get home and all that.” His eyes flickered to the rusty stains streaking his shirt. He shifted from foot to foot.

This conversation, which if anything was Enjolras’ thing it was conversations, had been the most awkward in his life. He did not understand why. He had known Grantaire for years, why was this conversation any different? He was even sober for this one. 

Enjolras realized as Grantaire waved goodbye and passed him, “Stella” in tow. He realized as he grabbed the other man’s wrist. He realized that it was because it was the first conversation that he had actually sought out with the battered man.

“Wait!” He didn’t have time to psychoanalyze himself before he had already unconsciously grabbed Grantaire’s arm. “Mind if I walk with you?” He chose to ignore the way Grantaire tensed under his touch. Grantaire just raised an eyebrow but nodded. He didn’t want to press his luck, they had managed to go five minutes with so much as a raised tone.

Enjolras let go of his arm and tentatively scratched Stella’s huge head. Grantaire offered a small smile and lifted his head to the sky, his face widening to a grin as he searched out the stars visible through the blanket of city light.

*

“She’s my sister’s, or rather was.” 

Enjolras had been invited in. Eponine had warned him, if he was going to do it right this time, he needed to stop worshiping Enjolras. Or at least avoid him.

Now he was sitting at his kitchen table. Grantaire’s heart beat a million times a minute. He wasn’t sure if it was withdrawal or the fact that his leg had brushed against Enjolras’ and he hadn’t recoiled instantly in disgust.

“Why Stella?” She lifted her head from her place near the kitchen window, close enough for her to rest her paws on Grantaire’s foot.

“Because my sister had a penchant for the classics, and is pretentious enough to know Latin.” Enjolras scoffed.

“Well now we know where you got it.” He studied Grantaire. His unruly hair. The brilliant ring of purple around his eye. The easy grin when he talked about his sister or her dog. The shaking hands.

“Hey blame her for the Apollo nickname, she’s the one who taught me about the gods, mostly to shut me up when I was younger.” Enjolras huffed a laugh at the mention of the nickname he so despised.

“Remind me to yell at her when I meet her.”

“Do you want to?” 

“What?” 

“Meet her?” Enjolras realized he had said it as a statement, a certainty. He suddenly didn’t know what he was doing in Grantaire’s apartment. He was making a fool of himself, Grantaire didn’t want to be his friend. Not after what he had said a few weeks ago. Grantaire sensed his discomfort. “Nevermind, look at Stella’s back.” He pointed to the dog who scrambled up and pressed her nose into his leg. Lucie says her coat is the night sky and all the little white dots are parts of a constellation. So Stella, Latin for star.” He stroked her head as she licked his other hand. “Yeah you.” He directed to the dog.

“She didn’t go with Canus Major? That fits better.” He ignored the way Grantaire seemed to be gripping the dog’s fur for dear life. Like it was keeping him stable.

 

“Lucie, as much as she loves stars, can’t find a constellation for her life.” He grinned again, the dog whined. “Oh shit, I haven’t fed her.” He groaned at his incompetence before jumping up and going to the end cabinet.

Enjolras had been to Grantaire’s before for a party. He had seen that cabinet open before, and had seen it stocked to the brim, a personal alcoholic bazaar. But now when the door swung open, and Enjolras couldn’t help but glance, all that filled that cabinet was a huge bag of large breed dog food, a hefty box of milkbones and one small, mostly empty, bottle of gin.. Grantaire caught the glance.

“Here you go buddy.” He scooped a handful and poured it in the serving platter sized food bowl which the dog happily devoured, slobbering on the floor. 

Without looking up from his dog, and so softly Enjolras could have imagined that it, Grantaire whispered. “I gave it all away.” When his eyes finally swept up, they were watery and bloodshot.

“Are you?” Enjolras still sat at the kitchen table murmured back. He could do crowds. One on one with a man that only weeks ago he had been ripping apart with his words was disconcerting to say the least.

Grantaire’s hands trembled. “I, uh.” He huffed and opened the fridge. “I need a drink.” Enjolras nodded as he pulled out a beer bottle. 

“We don’t have to go to the Corinth.” He said quickly. “That’s why right?”

“And her...” Grantaire says after a slight nod.

“You can bring her to the Musain, Musichetta won’t mind.”

“Why?” Enjolras’ look of confusion caused the words to tumble suddenly out of his mouth. “Why do you care?”

“Because I feel like some of this is my fault.” Grantaire’s wide eyes turn dark as he scoffed but he is interrupted by his phone ringing.

“Hello?” Enjolras made a move to stand up but was stilled by a raised palm and a fierce glance.  
“Georges?” Grantaire’s expression shifted minutely from glaring to concerned, Enjolras would have missed it, had he not been studying his face. “What is it? Where’s Lucie?” Grantaire’s tone grew desperate. “Coffee?” He nods. Enjolras is further confused. “To talk? Sorry man, this is just not something we normally do?” Grantaire paced from one side of the kitchen to the other as the conversation continued. Both Enjolras and Stella followed his movements with their eyes. “Ok, tomorrow, ok.” He nodded as if the other party could see him. “Yeah, sounds good, I won’t, alright, goodbye.” He ended the call and let his hand fall to his side.

“Who was that?” Enjolras was still tense on the edge of his seat, not sure if he should leave immediately or never.

“My sister’s boyfriend.” Grantaire’s tone was one of disbelief. He shrugged and sunk to a crouch, waving over the dog to pet her. She obliged with tongue and tail wagging. “He wants to have a talk with me.” His look is skeptical when he looked up at Enjolras. He instantly straightened up, evidently remembering what was being said before the strange phone call.

He grinned. “Don’t worry about me, Apollo.” He shook his head, sardonic grin still decorating it. “Nothing you’re responsible for.” He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest and the black hoodie that had replaced the bloody tank top. “Aren’t you happy, I haven’t been bothering you?” The grin faltered for a brief moment before rejoining his dark eyes in their acidic expression.

Enjolras felt a wave of rage wash over him. How dare Grantaire tell him what to feel. Enjolras didn’t even know what he felt, let alone Grantaire having that knowledge. So instead of putting into words his confusion, Enjolras harnessed his anger towards something much easier for him. Sharp words. He rose in one fluid motion, chair slamming into the discolored wall behind him. The dog flinched. 

“You’re absolutely right. It’s been great..” He cannot stop the words he spit out of his mouth, tumbling like a waterfall his conscience and clear head could not dam. 

“You made sure I was alive, like you obviously felt obligated to.” Grantaire sneered. Stella fled to her bed in the other room at the raised voices. “So you can leave now.” His hands no longer shook as they gestured carelessly towards the door.

“Goodnight Grantaire.” He raged, his long legs bringing him to the door in a few echoing steps. Before he could stop himself, Enjolras said just a few words that would have him rolling in his bed at four in the morning, churning in his head and killing any thought of sleep. He had no right to say what he had.. “Let’s see how long before you fall back in, I give it a week.”

He had shut the door quietly behind him. That hurt more than a slam ever could.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rock bottom

He cracked a bleary eye at the insistent barking coming from near the front door. His eyes clamped shut at the onslaught of curse words that followed the barking.

“Christ, Grantaire.” Eponine’s face leered down at him when he had steeled himself and opened his eyes again. Bright sunshine filtered into his dingy apartment. He was amazed that he was up this early and pissed that Ep had woken him up.

“What the actual fuck Eponine?” Her hand quickly fisted in his grimy Zeppelin t-shirt and hauled him into a sitting position. A sudden intense feeling of nausea caused his head to spin and his eyes to flood. Black eyes full of wrath bored their way into his unfocused blue ones. “Why are you here so early?”

“Early? Do you even know what day it is?”

“Thursday?” He questioned as he scratched his head, fingers trying to no avail to untangle the knots in his unruly mane.

“ERRRRRR, nope, sorry, wrong answer.” Voice screeching, she released her harpy grip on his shirt as she threw him back against the cushions; her eyes were wild as she stormed past the couch and into the kitchen. He did not look but could hear her rifling through his cabinets. Stella practically sprinted into the kitchen when the unmistakable sound of food being poured into a metal dish could be heard. 

Grantaire took in his surroundings for the first time since awakening. It looked like he had single-handedly cleared out the entire liquor store and helped them reach their yearly sales quota in one evening. Bottles of fifty different hues littered the pale hardwood floors of his living room. Broken glass was in more than a few different glittering puddles scattered around the room. 

The stench was the most overwhelming part of his newfound consciousness. A foul, foul smell pervaded the air. It did nothing for his already rolling stomach. Eponine chose that moment to come tearing back into the living room. 

“It’s fucking Saturday Grantaire. Saturday. You’ve been on this binge for almost three days Jesus fucking Christ.” Her tone grew softer as she takes in his dry heaving on the couch. “I thought you were getting better.” Barely a whisper at this point, Grantaire isn’t sure he was meant to hear that bit. 

An hour later, he had been forcibly showered after Eponine had enlisted the help of Montparnasse, who was actually home for once, and was back on the couch. The bottles had been cleaned up, as well as the broken glass and any mess Stella had made after being trapped in his apartment for two days. Grantaire’s face was hidden in his hands. The dog had been trying to nose her way to licking his face, but Grantaire had pushed her away and she had found reluctant affection in the form of Mont on the leather chair across the room.

“I am absolutely disgusting.” Grantaire moaned into his palms. As expected, Mont made no move to refute that statement, especially after being enlisted in scrubbing crusted vomit off of his naked, neighbor/sort of friend.

Eponine made a pained expression. “This needs to be it.” She gestured with her emaciated arms towards the dog licking designer leather shoes with purpose.  
“This is your wake up call. You love your sister right?” A nod is drawn from the defeated man on the couch. “And you certainly love this dog. So that’s it Grantaire. You either get sober or you lose her.” A grimace graced her gaunt face. “Because she cannot stay with you if your addiction gets in the way of taking care of her.” Her mouth set in a hard line.

His long slender fingers dug into his face and clawed at his eyelids in disgust at himself. He had never used the word addict to describe himself, but he realized now, that was exactly what he was. Alcohol had first taken his father away from him, then painting and boxing, leaving his psyche and his physique decimated as he struggled to find purpose in his life. He thought he had found in it in the avenging archangel that seemed to have descended to earth in the form of Enjolras.

He had been wrong. His only purpose and use in life currently was providing care for Stella, a responsibility that Lucie, despite knowing about his addiction, had entrusted him with. And he had gone and fucked that up. 

He hadn’t fed, watered, or brought her out in almost three days. What a loser he was. His alcoholism had turned him into an animal neglector.

Eponine was right, he would have to live for Stella, then himself, and never simply for Enjolras. 

“Ok.” He lifted his face to meet Eponine’s dark eyes with his own bloodshot ones. She nodded. “I want to do this the right way this time. For her.” Eponine’s expression called on him to continue. “And for myself.” Her face relaxed as he said the words, and his hands unclenched as he let go of his pajama bottoms. 

“That means you’re not doing this casually, not by yourself, because willpower alone will not beat this Grantaire.” A nod. 

“You’re going to have bad withdrawals, just saying.” Montparnasse added nonchalantly from his corner, long fingers buried in fluffy black fur. 

“You can’t hide this time.” She offered him a faint smile, crooked teeth poking out of thin lips. “You’ve got me, and all the amis, and even Mont, I suppose.” A ghost of a smile flitted across Grantaire’s face as he glanced at Mont’s slight scowl.

“I don’t want them to know.”

“Grantaire, this is nothing to be ashamed about, and you know how easily I trust people, and I trust them to help you without judgement.”  
“No, Ep.” Grantaire thought of Enjolras’ parting words from Wednesday, and despaired at the thought of sharing with the group the true extent of his alcoholism.. 

“How about Combeferre? I know how you feel about hospitals, and Combeferre could help with the withdrawals and he’d only share enough with the others to keep them from bothering you too much.” Grantaire seemed to mull that over.

“He’s his best friend Ep.” In a rare display of affection, Eponine patted down the back of Grantaire’s just-beginning-to-dry curls and leaned over to kiss his forehead.

“I know honey.” A shake of her split end ridden hair and a nervous crack of her knuckles followed. “I know, but they’re your friends too and they’ll want to know what’s going on.”

“Fine, Combeferre and only “Ferre for now.”

“Of course.”

Hours later Montparnasse had slipped out on some “business” or other, and Eponine was left carding through Grantaire’s hair on his lumpy bed. Combeferre had been over awhile ago and had been debriefed on what was going on, and he had explained to Grantaire what he should expect to experience now that he had completely stopped drinking. 

Grantaire shivered in Eponine’s bony arms.  
“Ep? Do you think Dubois will still let me have that fight?” She huffed a noncommittal grunt. Grantaire began to struggle against Eponine’s arms. “Ep, I need to train, let me go.” Eponine called for Stella who came bounding into the room and launched onto the bed, effectively pinning Grantaire to the mattress. “Ep, why’s it so bright, I need to get to the gym, Ep!”

The forewarned hallucinations had begun.

Brown hair tickled his face. A deep booming voice, no discernable words.

Floral. The feeling of leather on his hands. “Jesus Ep, is he going to make it?” “Shut the fuck up Mont.”

A pair of tortoiseshell glasses floating. The rattle of a bottle. An incessant buzzing. Alarms buzzing, a sunrise, a sunset. “What is Antietam? Who was Marie Curie? For five hundred.”

Soft fuzzy and a heavy mass on his chest. Cold, so cold. A doorbell, weight gone.

“No, you can’t be here, I don’t care how sorry you are. He doesn’t want you here.” Footsteps, more shivering. The heavy thud of paws. “Fine.” “Grantaire?” Black and browns and florals replaced by golds and reds in the kaleidoscope.”I am such a dick.” A sniffle. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Eponine? Eponine!” Hands touching his forehead.

Bright lights, nervous barking, beeping, beeping. A soft prick and finally black.


End file.
